Daddy's Home
by AndreggvilJammer
Summary: \For Beatrice/ Teddy Westside challenges Swarley to get laid with twenty women in a week of different professions, which he has never done before. Swarley's got it all planned out, and almost achieves it. Except… what's pulling him back from victory? Pushing on the T-rating, bordering M. Minor OOC-ness.


**A/N: **Because my best friend feels like it's the worst birthday of her life, so I figured I could do something to cheer her up. Post this story. Lololol. Enjoy~ Also, you guys are probably wondering why I named the story "Daddy's Home". Trust me, you'll understand when you guys get to the final chapter. :) This isn't edited yet, so apologies for any grammar, punctuation and spelling mistakes!

**Dedication: **To BeaBea/Sparkles/my waifu/my beloved sister/Lucky13star/ (and who could forget?) my one and only GBF – this is for you. :) Thanks for being there for me when I had my ups and downs, for understanding me when I felt mean or felt… things. You're a true GBF, and please know that Swarley would do anything for you. (Just don't take advantage of that. xD)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HIMYM. I wish I did, but I don't.

**Summary:** \For Beatrice/ Teddy Westside challenges Swarley to get laid with twenty women in a week of different professions, which he has never done before. Swarley's got it all planned out, and almost achieves it. Except… what's pulling him back from victory? Pushing on the T-rating, bordering M. Minor OOC-ness.

* * *

**Daddy's Home**

**MONDAY**

* * *

"Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to sleep with twenty women in a week?"

"Dude, that'd be awesome. We'd get sore hips for a week!"

"That's disgusting. You guys don't have any game at all. I mean, why sleep with twenty women when you can sleep twenty times with the same woman. Right? Right?"

"Marshall, I'm your wife and even that sounds terrible."

"Dude, dude, dude. Barney! I've got a challenge for you."

"Schmosby, if you go too hard on Swarley over here, he'll get sore hips. Not exactly pretty, eh?"

"Ah, can it, Canadian. Teddy boy, I am all ears."

"Okay. Here's the challenge. Get laid with twenty women in a week."

"That's easy, I-"

"Wait, wait. I'm not finished yet. You have to get laid with twenty women – all of different professions."

"Harder. But doable. Prize?"

"You get to be my best friend for a _whole week_ if you win_._ We'll do all the best-friends-stuff."

"_I like the sound of that, Theodore._ Continue on."

"Dude, what about me? I thought I was your best friend!"

"If you lose, I get to take your Storm Trooper home. _Forever._"

"_That Storm Trooper is mine and you know it. Game on!_"

* * *

**1. The Bartender**

He leans casually on the bar counter of MacLaren's, sipping his fine scotch.

He smirks inwardly to himself, because he knows he's already caught the new bartender's eye. Feigning annoyance at his tie, he loosens it up and unbuttons the first three buttons. He places his scotch at the table and sits facing the bartender, making sure she can have a rewarding view of his chest.

The attractive bartender visibly freezes, ogling at his chest in a manner which seems subtle (to her), but is very obvious (to him).

He watches her at the corner of his eye, as he pretends to be reading a special menu about beer that is oh-so-conveniently placed at the bar counter.

She seems to be summoning up the courage to speak to him. Amused, he turns his attention on her and motions her over.

The blonde bartender lightens up visibly and goes to him and leans on the bar counter, (maybe) in hopes that he would be impressed by her cleavage.

_Too small,_ he thinks to himself, but he smirks nonetheless, looking at her coyly.

He leans in and breathes seductively in her ears.

"I know you've been looking at me the whole night. I'm going to finish up my scotch, and it's up to you whether or not you want to follow me."

Hearing this, she shudders with delight and steps back, looking eager. Biting back his victorious smile, he finishes up his scotch, goes to the coat rack and shrugs on his trench coat.

The blonde bartender finishes talking to Carl, the other bartender, and makes her way towards him, sashaying her hips slightly. She's trying to look seductive, when in reality, she looks like she's about to wet herself with too much excitement (pun intended).

Feigning a happy smile, he thinks, _What an easy blondie._

* * *

As she is showering and humming loudly, Swarley whips out his Blackberry and types an email to Teddy Westside. He creeps into her bathroom and snaps a picture of her, with her eyes closed, facing him, under the shower.

**From: Barney Stinson  
****To: Ted Mosby  
****Date: July 30****th****, 2012 – 13:17 PM  
****Subject: Girl One**

_Name: Ashley Kavanagh  
__Age: 27  
__Hair: Blonde  
__Profession: MacLaren's Bartender  
_

_One down, nineteen to go. ;-)_

When the email has been successfully sent with an attachment of her picture, Swarley shuts the door quietly and takes all his clothing. He wriggles into his clothing quickly, in a routinely manner, as if he's done so for many times (which he has).

He slips out of her apartment and calls Ranjit, who arrives within a matter of minutes.

* * *

**2. The Hotel Manager**

He deliberately tampers with the toilet's flush, the showers head, and the TV wires. Making sure that everything is working improperly, he goes under the showerhead and twists the knob.

Water sprays everywhere, and the showerhead comes loose, falling on the tiles beneath his feet.

_Be natural, and no acting would be necessary,_ he tells himself. He feigns anger and annoyance. Wrapping a towel around his waist, skin wet and glistening, hair dripping with water from the broken showerhead, he makes his way to the phone and phones the front desk, demanding the hotel manager immediately.

Despite the anger he is displaying on the phone, his lips are curved into a mischievous smile, because he knows full well that this hotel's manager is no man, but a rather curvaceous brunette.

He is waiting by the door, and within seconds, the doorbell rings out in the room. Putting on his angry look and making sure the vein at his neck is twitching, he opens the door to see the hotel manager.

Wide doe eyes look up at him. The brunette before him is sweating from hurriedness and panting, and he invites her in coldly. Motioning her towards the bathroom, he furiously rants to her about the showerhead and the flush.

Angry on the outside but bursting with victory within, he sighs deeply as she keeps bowing her head and apologizing.

He takes the TV remote and switches the television on, only to be shocked by the screen's buzzing and the sudden burst of sparks behind the TV. Growling in annoyance, staring at the blacked out TV, he turns to the manager, asking her how she is running the hotel.

"I'm very, very sorry, Mister Stinson. I don't know what happened to this room. How may I repay you on behalf of the hotel?" She asks frantically.

"Oh, I don't know," he snaps. "I don't want anything that's worth any money, because material things like that get wasted very easily. They never last. What could you offer, right here, right now?"

The manager looks around frantically, biting her lip. After a lot of contemplation that has been running in her head, she bows her head, as if she's thought of one thing that could be offered right then.

"Well?" He growls impatiently.

Trembling, she unbuttons her grey blouse.

He raises his eyebrows."You're offering me your body?" He asks, feigning surprise.

He scoffs. "Quit playing around, Ms. Manager. I think it's kind of an established fact that no woman on earth would leap at a chance for offering her body."

In his mind, he's squealing. With delight.

She nods her head as she strips. "Mr. Stinson, I don't know if you noticed, but I think there's nothing I could offer you right here, right now, other than my body." She whispers quietly.

_Sweetheart, I knew that all along,_ he wants to say. But he keeps his mouth sealed as he watches her finish stripping.

She stands before him when she is fully naked, hesitance visible in her eyes, shyness rolling off of her like waves as she hugs her body.

"Please, let's just get this over with… I know that typical men cannot resist an offer like this."she says.

"And you have no idea how right you are, Ms. Manager."

In just a few moments, he is on top of her, kissing her senseless and running his hands up and down her body while she moans pleasurably.

Smirking inwardly, he congratulates himself, as he knew that in this situation, the result could have turned up other ways.

But he's intelligent. Maybe even Batman-intelligent.

Oh, who's he kidding, he's not Batman-intelligent. He's just intelligent. Intelligent enough to predict situations like these.

* * *

Just before she leaves the room as a ball of crimson, blushing profusely as she shrugs on her clothes and smooths out her just-fucked hair, Swarley secretly takes a picture of her, naked and panting on the bed with his Blackberry.

Sitting on his bed, sending an email from his ever-handy Blackberry, adding the picture as an attachment, his lips are curved upwards in a gleeful smile, his eyes are sparkling with the pleasure of his hard-earned victory.

**From: Barney Stinson  
****To: Ted Mosby  
****Date: July 30th, 2012 – 17:04 PM  
****Subject: Girl Two**

_Name: Samantha Campbell  
__Age: 34  
__Hair: Brunette  
__Profession: "The Grand Peninsula" Hotel Manager_

_Two down. I wonder who's next? :-D_

Swarley sends it to Teddy Westside before sinking into his covers, deciding to take a little nap before going out to hunt for his next target.

* * *

**3. The Office Lady**

He is sitting in his office at Goliath National Bank, waiting for the important document he had asked her to edit and print out for him. Despite the fact that this is a scheme to lure her into getting laid, the document is in fact truly important to the company.

To him, not only does he get one step closer to achieving his goal, but it is also a very convenient thing – that document placed before his eyes by his very boss, telling him that if he can edit it, it would certainly grant him a promotion.

A quid pro quo, in his terms, if he presents this to one of the office ladies. Which he already had. To the last and one of the most attractive ones left in the whole bank right now. He's sacrificing his promotion, but it's worth it, he decides.

He sits back, waiting quietly for the documents and the pretty office lady.

Bored, and ever-gleeful about how he had found his own way to cut off monitoring on all of his devices in his office, he makes a call to Teddy Westside, still smiling at the advantage GNB has offered him.

Teddy Boy picks up on the third ring.

"_Barney? You're calling me from the office. Aren't you supposed to be off work already? Actually, isn't this week your week off? Also, this phone call is recorded. Stop calling me. You could get in serious trouble._"

"One, I cut off all the monitoring in my office, so no worries about the recording thing. Two, yes, I'm supposed to be off work, but the office lady who I'm about to get my hands on and is working on a document for me doesn't know that."

"_I should've known you'd find some way to cut off monitoring. How _do you_ do it?_"

"Cut me some slack with the sarcasm, Theodore. Besides. It's a trade secret."

"_Right. Of course it is._"

"Anyways, did you see? You saw, right? Two preys in one day. Incredible!"

"_Yes, Barney, I saw. Geez, who would've thought you, of all people, could get your hands on two women in a day? Let's see if you can manage getting twenty._"

"Me. I thought it, and you've underestimated me, Teddy Boy! I'm not stupid. I can manage getting twenty in a week."

"_Clearly._"

"I have to pretend I'm on an important business call, so pretend with me."

"_Um. Sure? Is this another scheme to get a woman in bed?_"

She enters the room; chestnut hair pulled back into a neat bun, wearing a coal grey pencil skirt and a white silk blouse – both pieces of clothing ironed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. She closes the door quietly, sensing that he's on an important phone call.

"Yes, and I need the documents by tomorrow morning, Ross. The board of directors will kill me if I don't turn it in. Those documents hold valuable pieces of information."

"_Oh, I see. Wait, documents? What docu- oh. Hey! Ross is a pretty smooth name. Maybe I should change my name from 'Ted' to 'Ross'. Whaddya think?_"

He motions for her to sit, pacing around.

Clutching the manila file in her hands, she sits and purses her lips, looking as if she doesn't know what to do.

"No, Ross. It's a terrible idea. Think about the complications it would create for you and for me. It's not worth it."

Pause.

"Yes. Good boy. I only need the information tomorrow, but I'm free later tonight, so I could take it from you later. If you're free, that is."

Pause.

"Yeah. Okay. Where?"

Pause.

He laughs.

"The Pub it is. And I know. It'll be legen- wait for it… _dary._"

He stops pacing.

"Yes. That sounds good. So, let's meet up for a drink and a talk about the new _clients_ that are helping the _program's process_, okay? I think we need to discuss about the market we're _targeting_. I've already taken on two _clients_ today. They were very willing to _work with me_, after much persuasion, of course."

He grins.

"_Dude, you're dirty. I know what you're talking about, so stop it with the programs and stuff. MacLaren's, tonight, 11 PM. I'm gonna contact Marshall and Lily and Robin about your so-called success._"

"I take pride in my success and you know it. Later, Ross."

He hangs up.

"Sorry about that, uh, Matilda, I needed to talk to Ross about a lot of things."

She fidgets.

"It's quite alright, sir. Here are the documents you asked for, and, may I ask who Ross is?"

He gives her a breezy answer, taking the manila folder and flicking through the file inside, busying himself.

"Just an insignificant other who sponsors the company."

"I see… Well, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Stinson, I have to get back to work-"

"Oh, no, please, sit down. I have to talk to you about the editing of the documents."

She opens her mouth, about to argue, but thinks the better of it and purses her lips together, as if holding her tongue.

"Matilda, sit here."

He pats the metal armrest of the chair in front of his desk.

She slowly makes her way to the chair and sits reluctantly.

"I just read these edits here, and excuse me for saying this, but – I'm not impressed. I'm surprised, though. I thought you could do better than this."

"Sir, I could do better. Just give me more time and I'll re-edit the whole thing."

"That's good to know. But I don't want a 'could'. I want a 'would'."

His lip twitches into a small smile.

"So, please sit here at my desk, so that I can watch you edit. I want to know if you're capable of doing this. Editing this piece of document could get you a promotion, you know." He grins as he speaks.

"Really? I could get a promotion for this?" She gasps.

"Yes. But, before you start, why don't we have a toast? To the future department head." He smiles charmingly, going to the mini bar set at the corner of his office.

He takes out a fine brandy from the cabinets below and pours some into two cups before quickly putting the bottle back in the cabinet.

Being one of the best with computers and electronics, (like Batman. But hell, he's _Barnman_) he's been able to dig out information about the office lady. Enough info to know that she has a very low alcohol tolerance.

He hands the cup to her. She looks at it uneasily, reluctantly taking the cup.

"I'm not sure if I should drink this… I'm not very alcohol-tolerant." She laughs nervously.

"I'm not either." A big lie. "But despite what people get at, brandy isn't exactly strong. If you heard that it's strong alcohol, those people probably also have low alcohol tolerance." An even bigger lie. "So, drink up."

"R-really? Then, d-don't mind if I do." She stutters. Smiling, they toast, and she drinks up her small amount.

Stalling her, they talk for a while, and he's delighted to hear from her that she can't think straight when drunk, and starts yammering on about a lot of her personal secrets.

As they progress, he becomes bolder, even so to touch her knee or give her a pat on the shoulder, or even tilt her chin to look up at him; sometimes even whispering in her ear, knowing full well that she's shivering with pleasure.

When she's tipsy enough, he starts caressing her thighs, and soon enough, he's devouring her hungrily while she shrieks and gasps in delight, moaning his name over and over.

He grins lasciviously. Everything doesn't go exactly as he planned at first, because getting his hands on her isn't exactly easy. But things straighten out when she gets tipsy, and since she's still conscious of what he's doing and not even putting a stop to it, he's not guilty – and he wouldn't call this taking advantage, either.

Not exactly, anyway.

* * *

She smiles up at him, hair sticking to her face as he snaps a picture of her in his Blackberry.

He types up an email quickly, attaching the photo, happy with his success in the day.

**From: Barney Stinson  
****To: Ted Mosby  
****Date: July 30th, 2012 – 22:25 PM  
****Subject: Girl Three**

_Name: Matilda Hall  
__Age: 31  
__Hair: Chestnut  
__Profession: Office Lady at GNB_

_Cha-ching, Teddy Boy! I'll see you later at El MacLaren's. ;-)_

He makes sure it is successfully sent before putting on his clothing and giving her a little peck on the cheek, seeing her curled up on one of the chairs, with her blouse covering her.

"Hey, tidy yourself up, okay? The document is due Thursday, so you don't have to finish working on it tonight, but I expect my office to have absolutely no traces of our coming (_what up_) whatsoever."

She nods lazily, replying, "You got it, sir…" before nodding off.

He takes a crocheted blanket from one of his drawers (in case he was tired and wanted a nap at the office) and wrapped it around her. Noticing her relax, he knows she is warm before putting on his trench coat, turning out the lights, exiting the GNB tower and hailing a cab, telling it to head to MacLaren's.

* * *

"Whoa. Three in a day. If he keeps this up every day this week and maybe even slot in maybe an extra girl one of these days, he's so gonna win the bet."

Ted sighs miserably, looking at the picture and email on his phone.

"Dude, you initiated the challenge. And Barney Stinson isn't taken down so easily. You, of all people, should know that." Robin points out, sipping her scotch.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure. I mean, even the Barnman's plans fails sometimes, right?" Marshall muses, drinking his root beer.

Lily opens her mouth to say something, when an obnoxious, familiar voice rings in their ears.

"_Daddy's home. With three successes!_"

* * *

**A/N:** I'll admit, the ending _is_ pretty lame, but hey, spare me. This was long overdue. I was supposed to post this on July 30th, but couldn't make it due to a writer's block on the last girl of this chapter. Anyways, let's hope the second chapter will be up soon. :)

**For Sparkles/Lucky13star: **Anyways, Bea, I hope you're happy with this. Lol, I wasn't intending to mix anything M-ish in the first place, but since everything about Swarley (ahem, me) is dirty and perverted, I figured, there's no harm in pushing the T rating to its limit. :P I'm sorry for having to suffocate you with waiting. But it's finally up! :D Wha-la! A belated happy birthday to you, my dear friend.


End file.
